


Running With the Wolves

by alaynesjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 09:17:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaynesjon/pseuds/alaynesjon
Summary: Every night Jon woke up screaming and gasping for air. Tonight, a familiar face had  come to his aid.Set after 6x10. Jon and Sansa talk about their traumas and their nightmares while struggling with personal realizations.





	Running With the Wolves

Jon had been stabbed five times by his fellow men of the Night Watch. At least that is what Davos has said to him. He had only felt four knives pierce his skin; by the time the fifth went in Jon had lost consciousness and surrendered. His last lingering thoughts were of his siblings, a girl with fiery red hair and the idea of a mother he had never met. The Red Woman brought him back. He had only seen darkness, and now he was alive again;  much to his own dismay.

But soon everything changed. When she arrived, when Sansa - his sister- had arrived to Castle Black. Sansa had been as beautiful as she was before leaving Winterfell, but she was no longer radiant like she had been the night of the feast with the King.

Jon had only seen such sadness in a mirror glass. Her eyes were gloom with pain but as soon as she saw him, she ran to him with such relief and happiness, that he would have never expected from her. Sansa and Jon had never been close as children. Sansa was Lady Catelyn’s daughter and she had behaved as such. A lady was not to pay attention to her bastard half-brother and likewise she didn’t. Before that day in Castle Black, Jon and Sansa had never hugged. When he left for the watch he hadn’t even said goodbye to her, which in retrospective might have been wrong, but Jon didn’t think she cared enough about him leaving. 

However, their childhood had been lives away. The Jon and Sansa that met again that day had gone through their own painful journeys, and they were willing to put petty children’s acts in the past.

When Melisandre took Jon from the arms of Death, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with the Night Watch. He had died in his post and he wasn’t willing to live his live like this anymore. He was thinking he could go south, maybe look for Arya. Or go further North to look for Bran. Maybe he would go to the northern lords to tell them about the Night King and his army. Maybe he would go to Ramsay Snow and slit his throat for what he had done. But all of those were maybes, and Sansa was real and she was there when he less expected it. Sansa gave him purpose and made him the will to fight, to live, to… love. He loved his sister.

In the light of snowing, Jon and Sansa had been discussing who would get the Lord’s chambers. Or rather Sansa had been discussing that Jon should take them. She called him a Stark, she said that he was a Stark to her. She had said sorry for not telling about the knights of the Vale, sweet Sansa had apologized for winning the battle of the bastards. At that moment she was so tender , her soft red hair against her marble skin. The perfect picture of a lady from the songs. Jon had thought that if the southern gods were real, this was what the maiden looked like. His impulses took over and he decided he wanted to kiss her. He stared at her lips, those lips that seemed chiseled by the Gods own hands. He looked at her and he kissed her on the forehead. Like a brother should. 

The shame had gone in the back of his head after he was crowned King in the North. But when the night came he couldn’t stop thinking about Sansa. Sansa’s lips, her deep blue eyes, her hair like silk, the way she bit her lip when she was happy, the way she raised her head in the face of fear. Jon was disgusted. He was an abomination. Feeling this way, was this how the Kingslayer thought about the Queen? Had the gods punished Jon for coming back from the dead? Or was this the mere product of him being a bastard? Sansa was his half-sister, no… his sister. How could he ever think of her like that? What had been different in him to make him such a disgusting creature. Every time his thoughts drifted to Sansa he found himself happy, and almost immediately he found himself hating… Hating himself for thinking such perverse things, and hating the fact that he loved Sansa like he had never loved everyone. He would have died to protect her, like any brother would do, but he was also jealous… Jealous of Little FInger always being around her and looking at her like she was a prize he would soon have. Jealous of the way other men looked at her, his men… Jealous of the whispers that stable boys had with each others about her looks. He shouldn’t have felt like that, no… he couldn’t feel like that. And yet he did. 

Sansa was part of his distress but the nightmares were another. Ever since he came back from the dark emptiness that was death he had the same nightmare every night, or at least a variation of it. Sometimes he was killed by his men and woke up looking at the Night King, sometimes there was engulfing flame burning his dead body alive while he felt everything; but every night without change he felt being stabbed four times and dying all over again. He woke in sweats and gasping for air. 

That night wasn’t any different. He went to sleep wishing for a night without nightmares yet the gods weren’t listening. He closed his eyes and almost immediately he saw the sign that called him a traitor. He tried to stop himself from walking there but he wasn’t in control, like in his wolf dreams. 

“For The Watch!” and he felt the knives pierce his skin and making him a shadow of himself. Suddenly he was burning, were these Melisandre’s flames? No these were blue flames, he saw the Night King riding a dragon, he saw a very different yellow fire burning the broken tower of Winterfell; a redheaded girl lying dead in the snow… Ygritte? No… No, no, no, no… not Sansa. 

He had woken right after that, he couldn’t stop himself from screaming, Ghost was whimpering at his side, he felt like he couldn’t breathe; panic was hugging him and not letting him go like. He saw the door open in a rush and that’s when he saw her. Every night Jon woke up screaming and gasping for air. Tonight, a familiar face had  come to his aid. 

“Jon?” he had never heard her so worried “are you okay? I-i.. I have nightmares too you know?”

He just moved his head while she sat next to him. She brushed his hair out of his face and touched his cheek… did she realize how this made him feel? Did she have any idea what kind of monster her bastard half brother was?

“You know after, all that happened with Ramsay. I-I… I barely could sleep. I always had nightmares when I did fall asleep. If there is anyone in this castle that understands, it’s me. You can talk to me, Jon. You’re my family.”

“I-I know… but I must be strong… for you.” His voice sounded raspy, his throat had certainly strained from all the yelling.

“I think we can be strong from each others and still talk about our nightmares.” She smiled… It was the smile they talked about in every song, the radiant smile she had given Joffrey when the big banquet happened in Winterfell; the smile she reserved for giving him gifts or for announcing how Winter Was Here. He loved that smile… more than he should have. 

“We will talk… I promise you, I’m ju-just not ready.”

She had smiled again and said her goodbyes while he begged the gods to take his sins away and give him a night without nightmares. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hi y'all! This is the first time I share my fanfic so I hoped you liked it. Suggestions are welcome but please be kind I'm an amateur


End file.
